Page 18 of High Frequency

“Amateur? I’m here investigating the possible abduction of and sexual assault on a young girl. I’m hardly playing.”

Sexual assault?

A sick feeling twists in my stomach at the memory of her small body trembling uncontrollably against me. The thought of someone violating her like that has me see red.

I take her point, she’s doing her job, but that still doesn’t mean I’m going to play fast and loose with her safety. Even if I had the proper equipment with me, letting someone without experience rappel down that cliff would be irresponsible.

“Do you have a long lens for that camera?” I ask her. “If she saw something with the naked eye from that ledge, you should be able to pick it up from up here with a zoom.”

It takes her a moment to react, but then she dives into her backpack and triumphantly pulls out a padded pouch. While she changes out the lens on her camera, I grab a spray can from my saddle bag. Then I walk back to the spot directly above where we first spotted the girl clinging to the cliff, and drop down to my stomach, inching part of my upper body out over the edge.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hear Sloane behind me.

Instead of answering, I give the can a few shakes before aiming it at the rock face below and marking it with a downward arrow.

“Making sure we can find the spot from below, if need be,” I tell her as I scramble back and get to my feet. “Start taking your pictures.”

She rewards me with the flash of a smile before lifting her camera.

Six

Sloane

“Oh my God. Did you see that?”

I look up from my computer screen to glance at Carmi, who is doing homework at the kitchen island. Sully is at the ranch, and Pippa had some work to do at her auto shop.

“See what?”

She points at the play mat on the floor where I put Aspen down for some tummy time.

“She rolled over.”

Sure enough, my daughter is now lying on her back, little legs kicking and her hand firmly clasped around one of the toys hanging down from the mobile of her play mat.

I groan, digging my fingers into my eyes. They’re gritty from intensely staring at the screen for the better part of two days.

I snapped well over two-hundred pictures at the gorge on Kenelty Mountain on Friday. We were out there for several hours, but weren’t able to spot anything with the naked eye. My hopes are fixed on the images I took, but it’s taking a lot longer to zoom in as close as I can and scan every inch of every image. A bit like looking for Waldo, except I have no idea what exactly it is I’m looking for, or if anything is even there.

Yesterday, Chelsea was released and she and her mom went back home. Unfortunately, the girl wasn’t able to provide me with anything new. According to her mother, the doctor suggested Chelsea’s disconnected state is a result of the severe psychological trauma she endured and referred them to a psychiatrist in Kalispell.

So, as of right now, the only leads I have are the hairs—which were sent to the State Crime Lab in Missoula—Chelsea’s minimal recollections, and piles of images. Sadly, those are what have demanded my attention, and made me miss this milestone in my child’s development.

I suddenly find myself blinking against emotion, and slap my laptop shut before sliding off the chair onto the floor to join my daughter.

“Did you just roll over?” I coo at her upturned face. Drool is covering her little fist as she tries to shove her hand—toy and all—in her mouth. “Are you feeling pretty pleased with yourself?”

“Mm-gah.”

“Is that so?”

I smile through my tears as she launches into an animated litany of garbled sounds only she understands.

“You know what?” I announce as I get to my feet and pick my baby up. “We’re stuck inside while it’s a beautiful day out. Wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure!” Carmi agrees enthusiastically.

Anything to get out of the homework she already left to the last day of the weekend. As I’ve learned in the short time I’ve been here, my little cousin is not a fan of school, reminding me a lot of myself at that age.

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